


The Stories We Pass Down

by DragonLover19



Category: Coco (2017)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-20
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2019-02-17 16:51:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13081143
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragonLover19/pseuds/DragonLover19
Summary: A series of small stories following after the movie Coco.Warning: Spoilers. If you haven't seen the movie, don't read.





	1. Aware

Aware.

The first thing that came to mind was being aware. Aware of the darkness. Aware of the silence. Even more aware to know that he somehow knew he was a guy. Why or how, he did not know. His mind was blank and everything felt too new to him.

Yet familiar.

When he opened his eyes for the first time, it took him a while to register that his eyes were open and that he was looking at something. His mind was still in a bit of a blank and his body was heavy with prickets of pain running through him. It took even longer for him to even get a small vague knowledge of what was what with his body. Even if it was only small bits like arms, legs, chest and his head.

His legs were bent slightly in one half, hanging off something to where they were bent. He thought. He wasn’t sure since he couldn’t see them too well. One arm was laid across his chest and the other was on the ground. His mind slowly registered that he wanted to move some part of his body. Wanting to get up or move or do something. But his mind was still not fully in working order, and his limbs felt heavy and limp.

He tried to will something to move. Anything. A small twitch, or maybe be able to lift something up. The small corner of his eye caught some small movement from his arm limp against his side. He didn’t know what to call the five things at the end of his arm, but one of them twitched. It was small and easy to miss, but it was something.

So the slow process began. He willed and tried for the five things to move, succeeding more and more with each little moment. Soon enough he could move them with some difficulty, but it was progress. But then came the tricky part of lifting the arm up. It was even more difficult than moving the five things. And it took even longer than ever.

And there was pain. Not enough to hurt badly, but it was enough for his body to stop and wait it out. Coming and going, he kept trying to get the arm up, no matter how much the pain there was.

The motion was even more slow than moving the things, but eventually he was able to get the arm up, lifting it high above him. He stared at it, seeing it shake from his effort to keep it up. There was still pain, but he ignored it for the most part, eyeing the arm as he moved the things with shaky effort.

Then there were two.

He stared in silence, looking at the two that suddenly appeared, staring down at him with mirrored looks. He blinked slowly at them, trying to figure out what these two things were when they suddenly shouted in union.

“HE’S AWAKE!”

There was sudden ringing in his head that was painful enough for him to wince, his strength failing at that moment and his arm fell down and popped off. It was alarming to say the least that the arm he had worked so hard to move just easily popped off like that. And he wasn’t even sure if it was supposed to do that. The two disappeared soon after, though he could still hear them shouting the same sentence over and over.

Though he really wished that they stopped. It was really making his head hurt.

It only worsened as someone’s shrill cry **_WHAT?!_** echoed and thundering sounds that were getting louder. His head was practically throbbing in pain, making a feeble groan escape him and shut his eyes tight in a vain attempt to block out all the noise.

“Héctor!” Someone shouted. And at that point he really wished all the loud noise was gone because at this point his head was going to split in two from the pain he was in. “¡Mi amor!” Something wrapped around him tightly in a strong hold. Strong enough that he was sure that something in his chest broke. A pained wheeze escaped him and the hold loosened on him.

“Héctor?” Héctor. That name sounded… familiar. Was it his name? He slowly opened one eye, finding a great effort just as it was for the things at the end of his arm. Someone was looking at him. Her eyes were filled with deep concern and her face had worry with something else he could not place.

And she was very pretty too.

“Oh Héctor.” She sighed, smiling at him with the most beautiful smile he had ever seen. She pulled him back into the hold again, but this time she wasn’t wrapping him tightly as before. “Oh Dios mío! I thought I lost you! Y-You were fading! A-and the light! A-and! And! ¡Gracias a Dios que estás bien!” The hold got a little tighter, but he found himself not caring and melted into the woman’s hold.

“Mamá Imelda? Should I fetch the doctor?” A new voice reached his ears (if he had any). Another woman, though different pitched for the one who had him in a hold.

“Sí Sí. Bring him in.” The hold loosened, which greatly disappointed him for some reason. “I want to make sure Héctor is in no danger.” His eyes caught a small glimpse of someone walking away. His vision was brought back to the woman before him. The concern was back again. “Héctor, are you in any pain right now?”

He wanted to say yes, to say that every part of him was in pain and he wanted it to stop, but his mouth wouldn’t move and it was an effort to make any sound come out of it. He nodded his head, slow and shaky, but it was enough of an answer for her. She brought him close to her again, sighing deeply. He closed his eyes, enjoying the soft hold this woman, no Imelda, her name was Imelda. The hold that Imelda had him in.

Imelda. Why did that name feel so familiar to him?

“Ah! So this is the esqueleto who evaded his Final Death.” A new deep voice came, prompting Héctor to open his eyes again and look to see a new stranger come in. “Hola Héctor. You gave everyone quite a scare. Not many had ever had a close call like you amigo.”

“Will he be alright?” Imelda pulled away from him again, looking at the stranger.

“Hard to say at this point.” The stranger set something down on a table Héctor suddenly took notice of, opening it up and rummaging around in it. “Not many have had close calls like your husband had. In fact, I never heard of someone barley succumbing to the Final Death and make it back.” The stranger took something out, doing a small wave at Imelda. She moved away from Héctor, which he didn’t like, and the stranger came closer.

“Has there been anything else you haven’t told me?” He asked, bringing the thing he was holding close to Héctor’s face and it was suddenly very bright.

“No. Other than what I’ve told you, nothing I’ve noticed comes to mind.” Imelda answered, and Héctor really wished the stranger would go away and take away the bright thing. The stranger held open both of his eyes, looking into them.

“Hm. Well, judging by the difficulty he’s having keeping his eyes open and his detached arm on the ground, it’s safe to assume that most of his energy had been depleted greatly from his close call with the Final Death.” The stranger took the bright away, bending down and picking up his arm, reattaching it into place. The stranger then checked Héctor all over, nodding his head a bit or humming a little. Héctor didn’t like the stranger too much and kept looking at Imelda, wanting to be back in her hold again.

At last the stranger backed away, standing straight and looking at Imelda. “He seems perfectly normal for the most part, however I do have some concerns about his leg. But that can be looked at another time. For now, the best option is to let him rest and regain his strength back. And no stress. It’ll only make it worse for him.”

Imelda nodded. “Gracias doctor.”

The stranger nodded his head, grabbing the thing on the table. “Just give me a call if anything turns up.” With that, the stranger left, leaving only Imelda and himself alone.

Imelda came over, picking the end of his arm, no, his hand up and held it in her own hands. “Héctor, do you remember much?”

Remember? He thought it over. He… did recall a few things. He couldn’t remember clearly, but it was certainly there in the back of his mind somewhere. However he did grasp at a few things that he could remember, faint they may be.

“… a… a l-little…” He started, finding some difficulty to get him mouth to move right.

Imelda smiled softly at him. “Don’t try to speak, mi amor.” She gently brushed her hand against his head. He leaned into the touch, sighing contently. “Rest a bit.”

Héctor complied, closing his heavy eyes and let darkness take over.

* * *

When he awoke again, Héctor was even more aware then he had been before. His mind was still in a daze and his body was still in a bit of pain, but now he could register things better around him. First being that he suddenly realized that he was not in his home in the slums, not sleeping in his small hammock with the walls filled with failed plans to get across the flower bridge and other junk, but laid out on a couch with a blanket covering him in a nicely decorated room.

He slowly looked around the room, blinking steadily as he sat up. He was confused to the circumstance to way he was here and not in the familiar setting of his home. It then occurred to him that he was in someone’s home, on their couch. He quickly assumed that he had broken into someone’s home and they would not be pleased to see him there.

Tossing the blanket off him, Héctor swung his legs over and tried to stand up, only to fall over in pain. His bad leg throbbed and his ribs felt like they were being crushed. He was vaguely aware that there was probably going to be some more cracks in his bones judging by how much he was in pain.

He heard footsteps coming, though he didn’t have the energy to stand up again, so he closed his eyes and waited for the person to come and kick him out of their home.

“What is going in—Héctor!” Héctor’s eyes shot open. He **knew** that voice anywhere. He looked up as Imelda came into his view, worry all over her face. “Qué en el mundo, why are you splayed out on the table like that?” She reached for him and he closed his eyes, waiting for the anger that was sure to come. To his surprise, Imelda hooked her hands under his arms, hefting him up and seating him back on the couch.

Being surprisingly gentle while doing so. “What are you?” He tried to ask, but his head was suddenly pounding and his vision was spinning. A groan escaped him, grabbing his head to make it stop spinning, even though it was never really spinning in the first place.

“Héctor?” A hand was on his back. “Héctor what’s wrong?”

“M-my head. It hurts.” He managed to say through gritting teeth.

“Hang on. I’ll get some ice.”

“Gracias.” Héctor mumbled, watching Imelda leave the room. He sat back against the couch, holding his head as he looked around. It was a nice room, finely furnished and well decorated. It wasn’t over the top or anything extravagant, just simple décor that brought liveliness to the room. Simple yet with elegance hidden within the designs that drew one in.

Héctor flinched as something cold touched his head, but so sighed in content as his headache drifted into a bearable throb.

“Is that better?”

“Sí. Gracias Imelda.” Héctor smiled up at Imelda. She smiled back as she took a spot next to him. It was slowly occurring to him that he was sitting next to Imelda, in her house, on her couch, sitting very close to her without a single threat or boot raised to smack him. His confusion must have been all over his face because soon Imelda frowned.

“What’s the matter?”

Héctor looked around the room a bit, trying to find anything that would give him a clue to what had happened last night. When he found none, he looked at Imelda. “Imelda. What… what happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“Not much.” Héctor tried to recall last night’s events, trying to grasp the picture of the memory. But it evaded him, slipping through his grasp and hiding in the blackness of his mind. “There… there was… someone…” A boy. He remembered a young boy. He remembered being scared of him for some reason at first but then nothing else he could grasp.

Imelda placed a hand on Héctor’s shoulder. He looked at her with eyes filled with deep confusion. “What happened last night Imelda?”

Imelda was hesitant before she sighed, pulling Héctor close. “Where do I even begin? Last night had been a paseo salvaje. I’m still trying to get it wrapped up in my head as well.”

Héctor was a little bit tense in her hold, but relaxed as she spoke. “Maybe you can start with how it all began?” He offered her a small smile.

She smiled back at him, and then begun the tall of last night’s events. She told him over how she could not cross the bridge, how she was informed that her photo was not on the ofrenda and how she beat the woman’s devil box in anger. (“Oi, quit your smiling Héctor.”) She then told him about Miguel, their great-great-grandson, and how he got cursed and stuck in the land of the dead. She told him that Miguel had taken her photo down from the ofrenda, making it impossible for her to cross over the flower bridge for Dia de los Muertos. (“I know _that_ feeling all too well.”)

She told him how she tried to give Miguel her blessing to send him home with the condition to never play music again, and how he refused and ran away. She told him how she went searching for him, looking all around with the help of her spirit guide, how she found him and Héctor in a deep hole. (“I remember that!” “You do?” “Yes! I was thrown down there! I-I-I remember Miguel giving me the photo of you an-an-and Coco! He was proud to be my family! He was proud!”)

She told him how Miguel explained that Ernesto de la Cruz had poisoned him when he tried to come home. (“¡Ese maldito hijo de puta!” “Sí.”) She then told him how they snuck inside Ernesto’s Sunrise Spectacular to get back Héctor’s photo and how she wounded up on stage. (“La llorona. Your favorite ballad.”) She told him how Ernesto had tried to murder Miguel by throwing him off the building and how Héctor was close to succumbing to his Final Death.

Héctor’s bones paled. “I… I almost died.”

Imelda nodded, holding Héctor close to her as if he would fade away if she didn’t hold onto him. “You were almost gone from this world. You were fading so fast you were almost nothing.”

“But, I’m still here.” Héctor held up his hands, looking at them with a deep frown. Coco was the only person alive who remembered him, the only one who kept him from disappearing to his Final Death. She was an old woman now. Her memory wasn’t what it used to be. But then, how was it that he was still here? Did Coco still have some memory of him? How did she still remember him after all this time since his name was never spoken in the family? “H-how? Coco, she—” His eyes widened.

 Dia de los Muertos. Coco.

“Ai!” Héctor sprang up, stumbling on his weak legs. “Querida muerte, qué hora es?!” He looked around frantically, trying to take a step forward but his legs soon gave out and Imelda caught him before he fell. “The bridge! I have to! I have to see Socorro.” He weakly tried to get out of Imelda’s grip, but his strength was suddenly gone and his body felt weak and frail.

“Ay, ay, ay. Héctor. Dia de los Muertos is over. The bridge is gone.” Imelda set Héctor back on the couch, brushing some strains of his hair out of his face.

“Gone?” Héctor quietly repeated, looking at Imelda with sad eyes.

She nodded sadly. “Gone. Dia de los Muertos has passed.”

The news was slow to set in, and once it did Héctor fell back against the couch, letting out a deep sigh through his nose. Gone. The Day of the Dead had passed, and he yet again lost the chance to see his little girl. He failed. There were no more chances for him to see her. “I just wanted to see her again.” He whispered, clenching his bony hands tightly.

Imelda brushed her hand against his cheek. “I know.” She sat down next to him, wrapping her arms around him and held him close. He let himself be held by the woman he loved, allowing it to let himself know that he wasn’t the only one who missed Dia de los Muertos to see their baby girl.

“So what now?” He asked, looking towards the ceiling as if it would show an answer to him.

Imelda was silent for a moment before letting out a tired sigh. “I’m still angry at you for leaving. That will never go away completely.”

Héctor winced, expecting her to say that she wanted him out, gone from her life again. If it made her happy he would do it, it was the least he could do after what he had put her and Coco through.

“But.” She looked him straight in the eye. “That doesn’t mean I can’t forgive you.”

He blinked in surprise at her. He did not expect to hear that. From Imelda no less.

“Héctor, I… I was wrong. I never should have tried to make our family forget you. I never should have let you be forgotten. I should have tried to find you, or ask what happened to you…” She shook her head. “I doubt I would have found much. But, even if we can’t fix the past.” She slid a hand into his own, gripping it tightly. “Maybe we can start again?” She gave him a hopeful look.

Héctor stared at her, his mouth hanging open so wide his jaw could pop off any moment. Imelda, the love of his life, was asking him to give to give them a second chance. This had to be a dream. A hallucination he was having as Final Death took him. If it was, he wanted to make it last.

“Of course we can.” He squeezed his hand in hers, smiling brightly at her. He wanted to have the second chance to know his wife again. He wanted to be part of the family he had long been banished from. He wanted nothing more than to make up for the lost time between them, to mend what he had broken so long ago. He wanted a chance. That was all he asked for.

* * *

As Héctor slept peacefully against her, Imelda kept counting her blessings. Her family was safe and whole, with the added addition of her husband back. It would take some time to mend everything and relearn what was forgotten between them, but she was will to take that chance. If it meant Héctor would stay, she would do it.

He was still the love of her life, no matter how angry she was at him.

For now she had to make sure that she didn’t lose him too soon or she would break and crumble. And patch him up. A few doctor visits should have his bones looking new again and fix his one leg.

She snuggled up close to him, smiling as sleep slowly took her.


	2. Cousins

Another year.

Another failed attempt to cross the bridge to the Land of the Living on Dia de los Muertos. Héctor wasn’t so surprised anymore. It had been ten or fifteen years since he died, and he could probably tell that no one had put up his photo on the ofrenda and no one was going to. Well, maybe. He was still clinging to the hope that his photo would be put up someday when they realize that he wasn’t around anymore.

Maybe next year then? He hoped so. He wanted to see his family again. Just one more time.

For now though, he just went back home to the slums, moping the lost chance to see them again. At least he wasn’t the only one who didn’t have a photo on any ofrenda.

“H-Hey! Cousin Héctor’s back!” Héctor smiled as skeletons looked up to greet him as he entered to small ruined village. While it wasn’t fancy, or brightly colored, or clean like the large city that towered over them, it was still a place to call home. Everyone who lived here were just like him. No family to return to, no photo on the ofrenda, and merely forgotten by everyone else.

“Well well well. Look whose back again.” An old withered skeleton smirked at him, putting her needle work on hold. “Still no luck I see? What a shame.”

Héctor rolled his eyes. “I know I know.” He pulled out a flask from a bag he carried, handing it to the skeleton’s outstretched hand.

“Gracias.” She took off the lid and took a long swig, sighing with content. “If you keep this up every year, I’ll be drowning in liquor.”

“If you keep making the same bet each year, you’ll get _tired_ of liquor.” The woman laughed as Héctor made his way deeper into the forgotten town, making a few stops at different homes to chat with a few people, handing them gifts he brought back with him with he failed to cross the bridge. He didn’t like seeing them so down, so it was only fair while he still tried to cross the bridge, he would bring something back for them to make them feel better.

They liked him, and he liked them. They were a mis-mingled family.

Chicharrón gave him a knowing look as he passed by, shaking his head and said nothing as the taller skeleton entered his home. Once the door had shut, Héctor’s smile faded, sighing deeply. Taking off his hat that he found a month ago, he tossed it on the crate, going over to his small hammock and crawled in and called it a night.

* * *

 

When he came back with a limp in his step, everyone flocked to him in worry. They asked what had happened, examining his broken bones. Héctor honestly didn’t know what happened. One moment he was trying to cross the bridge with a new plan he came up with, the next he was being pulled out from under a flaming wreak with unimaginable pain in his left leg.

Now his tibia had a large crack through it near the top, being held together with bandages. The doctors had told him he would never walk the same ever again when he woke up. And that was fine. If he could still walk, he could still try and make it to the other side. He already escaped from the hospital with a broken leg, so what’s to say it would stop him for good?

* * *

 

He didn’t try to cross the bridge this year. Not when he and half the forgotten village was mourning.

Fernanda, the skeleton that lived in the forgotten little village the longest, had passed on to her Final Death. Héctor had seen the Final Death over the years, getting accustomed when a friend was forgotten in the living world. Having to say goodbye for the final time as they departed to the unknown.

But Fernanda? That was a hard blow. She died young but strong, taking leadership and held spirits high when things looked down. The village looked up to her for guidance and they all loved her very dearly. She was like a sister Héctor never had in life. His best supporter to keep his spirits high when he failed to cross the bridge.

Losing her left a scar in everyone’s bones.

A small service was held, and Héctor never felt so lost in his unliving life. Fernanda had always loved his music, so it was only right that he played the saddest song as they all said goodbye. Her favorite flowers were tossed into the waters and small boats were crafted and sent off with candles in them. They mourned for hours till the sun started to peek out in the distance and one by one they left.

Héctor stayed for a while longer, his head bowed and soul heavy. He gave Chicharrón his guitar back and went home.

No one saw him for over two months.

* * *

 

“Cousin Héctor? Why do you keep trying to cross the bridge?”

Héctor stopped in mid cut, looking at the young skeleton beside him. Matías, he recalled. The newest of the pack of cousins. Poor boy was only a teen when he died. A house fire to what he could recall to his final night. Well, at least he remembered how he died. Héctor was still sour by the oh-so-funny rumor that he choked on a chorizo.

When he found the person who started that rumor, they were in for a world of pain.

“I keep trying to cross the bridge in hope that I can see my family again. It…” He looked down at his carving. A starting to look like alebrije fish. “It’s been so long since I’ve seen them… I just, hope that one day my photo would be up on the ofrenda.” He sighed and shook his head, going back to carving.

“It’s not something I wish to discuss much chico.” Matías nodded his head, going back to his own carving. Héctor smiled softly. The kid was a nice boy. It was just too bad that he died at such a young age. He would have made a fine husband to any luck woman.

His thoughts turned to Imelda.

* * *

 

Dia de los Muertos had arrived again, and Héctor found himself on his knees.

“Please Frida! I need you to cross the bridge! I need to see my family again!”

Frida, the kind woman, could only frown with pity. “I’m sorry Héctor. But the dead can’t leave anything behind from the Land of the Dead in the Land of the Living.”

* * *

 

Many cousins had tried to persuade their Cousin Héctor from trying to cross the bridge each year. It kept proving to be futile for both ends as he refused to give up and he kept failing. Many of the cousins would elect one to go bail Héctor out and then spend the night all together.

But this year, something happened.

Something no one had seen coming.

Dia de los Muertos came again, and Héctor had went off to cross the bridge again. A few cousins decided to go to the city, hoping to watch de la Cruz Sunrise Spectacular on the screen. What happened before their eyes was a sight to behold.

One moment Ernesto was singing with some woman, the next he was throwing a boy off the building after his action of murdering Héctor was exposed. He was soon crushed by a bell, but they hardly cared once they saw a horrifying sight.

Héctor was flashing gold.

He was being forgotten.

Everyone watched mutely as Héctor laid on the ground, flashes of gold lighting his bones. The woman who had been singing with Ernesto earlier was holding Héctor close to her, crying and begging him not to go. Bits of his body was already fading away in wisps of gold. Soon there would be nothing left of him.

Héctor would be forgotten and succumb to his Final Death.

Or so everyone thought.

To everyone’s surprise, the wisps of gold suddenly retracted, falling down back into Héctor’s fading body and solidifying his bones.

The cousins watched mutely as the woman held Héctor in her arms, the biggest smile on her face with tears falling down her cheeks. Then a small group surrounded her, hovering over her as they looked between her and Héctor. They looked relived yet anxious to get close to her.

The nosy reporters however were not.

They watched as the woman took off her shoe, bashing any reporter that got too close and shouted at the small group that was with her to grab Héctor and get on her large alebrije. Two identical skeletons grabbed Héctor, one with his legs and the other with his arms, and hefted him up on the large alebrije as the others got on. They soon took off once the woman had jumped on and news spread like fire that day.

* * *

 

“COUSIN HÉCTOR!”

Héctor smiled brightly, happily opening his arms wide and allowed his cousins to hug him. Their familiar faces was a bright sight to see. Being gone from the slums for two months really put him on the downer. But being back? It felt so good. It felt like home to him.

Each cousin asked a question.

“Are you okay?”

“Where have you been?!”

“Is it true that Ernesto _murdered_ you?!”

“Have you had any flashes?”

“What have you been doing over the months?”

“Are you in any pain?”

“Who’s that?”

Everyone turned their heads. A lady in purple stood there, looking a bit out of place and flustered. Héctor smiled. “Everyone. I would like to introduce my wife Imelda.”

That got a surprising reaction from the cousins.

“WWWWWHHHHHHHHHHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA?!”

“ _That’s_ Imelda?!”

“She’s your w _ife_?!”

“Isn’t she the one who stomped de la Cruz on the foot?”

Imelda smiled a bit. Héctor had told her a bit about his ‘cousins’, and she honestly didn’t know what to think once she stepped foot in this worn-down broken place. He had assured her they were nice people, and she didn’t doubt it.

Though, she didn’t like the conditions that her husband had lived in for so many years.

Soon she was surrounded by Héctor’s own family and she found herself enjoying them as much as Héctor.


	3. Him

Dia de los Muertos wasn’t the only holiday that was celebrated in the land of the dead.

There was Diez y Seis, and Dia de la Raza. She particularly liked Diez y Seis. It marked the day of independence and held a certain flame of power in it that she just couldn’t shake. Of course she never fully enjoyed it since the ban on music prohibited her from enjoying it too much, but she still celebrated the holidays in her family’s own way.

But since that fateful night, that one simple quickly turned hectic adventure night, everything she had grown up to know was washed away, vanished. Not a deep trace of it she could find, though it lingered. It was still there, but not. She find herself questioning what had changed since that night, what it was that she could not see that had changed everything so quickly that it almost as if it was a missed detail flaw she didn’t catch in her work. So obvious yet over missed.

In one point, she thought it was because Mamá Imelda had let a certain member of their family live here now. She wasn’t too thrilled of it, but she wasn’t detested by it either. She knew only little things about him and what Imelda says goes. And she was just a little curious about the new Rivera in their pack.

Well, not new exactly. He had been dead far longer than any of them. Poisoned when he was a young man.

Murdered.

By his own friend just so he could steal his songs and become famous. Leaving a family with cold hearts towards music and resulting them to kick out the lone man who tried to come home to them.

The world of the living may have wept when de la Cruz died the first time, but the dead cheered when he died for the final time. No one steals from a Rivera and gets away from it unharmed.

Mamá Imelda had shown how well _that_ went. She had never seen her so angry at someone (besides for another certain someone to a lesser degree) that she would slap them so hard their skulls spun. Knowing the truth had hurt her in a way that it fueled her anger into something she had never seen in Mamá Imelda before.

And now, since all things had happened, the newest/oldest Rivera was living among them.

Though she hardly ever saw him.

Ever since they brought him home and the doctor had left, Imelda had forbade anyone to visit him, with strict instructions to keep things down and to not disturb him. _“Under no circumstances should he be under any stress. So everyone will give him some space as he recovers.”_ Her exact words. Though, she did catch her great-uncles sneaking into the room Mamá Imelda had given him to stay in. She didn’t let this bother her as they knew him far better than she ever did.

After a few days, she had spotted him walking around with Imelda by his side. Her grip on his arm as he steadily walked around, swaying with a noticeable limp in his step. He was talking to Mamá Imelda about something, though she didn’t stay long to listen what it was.

She didn’t feel comfortable seeing him around.

Especially so close to Mamá Imelda.

There was nothing wrong seeing them together, it was just… strange. She had never seen Imelda so happy with him around. She was more used to seeing her angry at him, yelling out curses when she saw him or glaring at him that would make even the bravest of people cower. But no, after that one night, her voice had gone soft and her eyes were filled with love that her own mamá had for papá Julio.

She didn’t see what made him so special. He was good with a guitar, she would give him that, but she didn’t know anything else about him. She didn’t know what he was like, she didn’t know how he and Mamá Imelda met, she didn’t know how he learned to play the guitar, and she didn’t know **_anything_** about this man!

And she didn’t want to know anything about him.

* * *

 

It had been only three weeks since Dia de los Muertos had ended, and yet his name was still a hot topic for hambrientas hienas. Ever since they opened the store up, people had flooded in, asking if they could see him, wondering if he made anymore songs, that if it was true to what the rumors said about him.

Needless to say, business was at a standstill for a while.

Though, she guessed that it was thanks to him that the store was now very popular and had better business than ever before.

Still, everyone in the Rivera’s could tell that he was not made for the spotlight. Nor did he want any part of it. He tried to keep out of sight, hoping that his new found fans wouldn’t see him and leave him be. Few had even tried to break in to see him, but had no luck since Mamá Imelda always threw them back out.

She didn’t like it. Not one bit.

* * *

 

Hearing him play as they worked was… interesting.

Not as a distraction, as she had once viewed it to be, but as a calm wave of focus that made her work a little less tedious. Sure she put her heart and soul into her work, but some days she just couldn’t focus right and spent hours on the same shoe trying to perfect it.

His music, it wasn’t fast or had the hot spark of life in it like when she first heard him play. It was more calm and laid back. Just quiet strums of bony fingers against tight strings so gently it was almost a silent whisper. There were no words as he played, but she found herself humming along on a few small occasions.

* * *

 

“You know, you didn’t have to come along if you didn’t want to.”

“I know.” She kept in step beside him, eyes focused ahead. “But Mamá Imelda doesn’t want you out on your own yet.” She spared a glance at him. He wore cleaner clothes now, along with custom made Rivera shoes that Imelda was proud of. His bones had a lighter tone, but still were yellow and chipped in many places. He still had a limp in his step, but it was small enough it was easy to overlook.

“She doesn’t want you disappearing on the familia.” She took a small satisfaction to seeing him cringe a bit.

“Well… okay, but. I’m just seeing my cousins. Not going away to be some hot shot incompetent self-centered jerk.” He spat the last part with an angry glare to the ground. That got her to raise an eyebrow at him.

“Aren’t you a musician?”

He shrugged. “Eh, back then it was an on and off thing. I didn’t play music the month I got here when I died. To busy trying to figure out my new life style here.” He crossed his arms, rubbing his goatee between his thumb and index finger. “I did play here and there when I had an instrument, but after I notice people singing the songs that I wrote and finding out Ernesto took them for his own, I…” He hissed, glaring off to the side. “I… didn’t take so kindly to it.”

This peeked her interest. “What happened?”

That made his stop, looking in a mix between ashamed and embarrassed. “Iiiii kinda broke my guitar in a fit, and made quite the scene in a central square. Got arrested for public disturbance and for doing some property damage made in my fit.” He gave her a sideways grin. “After a few days they let me out and I never played, sang, or dance after that moment.”

Her eyes widened. “You? Swore off music?”

“Sí, never touched a guitar ever again.” His grin faded away and a sad look in his eyes. “Well almost. There have only been a few… ‘scenarios’ where I went back on it. Friends, cousins. They… they’re the only people who I will ever play for.”

There was silence between them. His eyes were glued to the ground and she could only stare at the man who was married to her Mamá Imelda. Then he grinned, looking like nothing had happened, and continued forward. “Whelp! Can’t change the past now! On to the future!”

She stared at him mutely before following after him.

* * *

 

Turns out that he liked to visit his extended family in the slums a lot.

It was fine that he did. They were his family before his was welcomed back as a Rivera. But did he have to make it so… _frustrating_?

She was not jealous. Oh no. Not Victoria Rivera. It was just… He acted so… _different_.

Around his cousins, he was happy go, a jokester, and outgoing. But around them? Around his real family? Quiet, distant, doesn’t interact with everyone unless someone approaches him first. Ay! He was even scared of Tía Rosita! And she was the one who welcomed him the most in their family! Yet he acts like he’s walking on eggshells around her!

So why, around these people, these _extraños_ , did he act so happy and free?! Why wasn’t he the same around his real family? The people he was actually _related_ to?!

The way he joked with them, the way he hung out with them, the way that he talked, grinned, smiled, and laughed with them.

Everything that he was not with HER family. HER family. THEIR family!

Why them? Why. Why. Why. _Why. Why. WHY. WHY.WHY.WHYWHYWHYWHY **WHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHYWHY?!!!!**_

A high pitched yelp of pain reached her sense of hearing, and she found herself looking down at **him** with a boot in one hand, panting heavily as her arm shook with dark fury.

“BASTARDO!” She shouted, shaking her arm with the boot in hand and was pleased when **_he_** scooted away from her with fear in **_his_** eyes. “BASTARDO! BASTARDO BASTARDO BASTARDO **_BASTARDO!_** ” She swung her arm, hitting **_him_** across the face, hard enough that **_his_** head came off and flung into the waters below.

With an angry huff, she turned, ignoring the looks that _his_ family gave her as she went by, ignoring the concern worry as they went to _him_ as _his_ body tried to reach for its missing head.

* * *

 

Mamá Imelda was furious with her.

And why shouldn’t she be? She came back without _him_. She lied and said that _he_ wanted to spend more time with his cousins. She kind of expected _him_ to come in sooner or later and tell Mamá Imelda what had happened.

But he didn’t.

He didn’t come back. In fact, he didn’t show any sign or tell of himself for over a week.

A week was enough for Tío Oscar and Felipe to notice. A week was enough for her papá to get worried. A few days for Tío Rosita to get concern. A day for Mamá Imelda to grow frantic.

A week for her to grow ever more worried till she could take no more and went searching for him with Pepita and come back with him hours later with anger all over her face. But not at him. Her anger was directed towards her.

Mamá Imelda was furious. Why? Because she had scared him away with her own anger. Because she didn’t want him here with her family. Because she had hurt him out of anger.

Mamá Imelda sent her to her room, saying she would be up later to talk with her. That was fine. She deserved it anyway. She had hurt him.

* * *

 

Turned out, it was one of his cousins that told Mamá Imelda the whole thing. And it was him who had pleaded on her behalf for Mamá Imelda to go easy on her.

It was… startling, none the less.

She had struck him out of anger and jealousy, yet he had begged Mamá Imelda not to punish her. If she was expecting him to react to the way she treated him, this was not what she expected.

“He’s a strange one. But also very understanding.” Mamá Imelda said, smiling fondly. “He doesn’t have a single bad bone in his body or a bad thought for anyone.”

“He probably has one now…”

“Ay, niña tonta.” Imelda shook her head. “He doesn’t hate you for what you’ve done. He’s more concerned to think of what he had done wrong.” She turn her head so that she was looking directly at her. “He was concerned that he had done something that provoked you to act in such way that you did.” Her eyes narrowed at the mention of her action. “I’m surprised you even did that.”

She turned her head away, looking at the floor in shame.

“Querido niña dulce, why did you do such a thing?”

She stayed silent for a moment till she gave in. Better to let it out now then regret it later. “He… why? He acts so differently with us then when he’s with his cousins. He acts free and young, but with us? We’re like priceless glass items that break if you merely breathe on them! He _avoids_ us Mamá Imelda! He doesn’t treat us like family! We’re like strangers to him when his _cousins_ aren’t even _related_ to him in the slightest bit!”

Mamá Imelda was silent, watching her as she tried to control her emotions that were tumbling all around in her. When she had control again, Mamá Imelda spoke in a soft voice. “You don’t like him, do you?”

She was taken aback by this. “What?”

“Don’t act foolish child.” Imelda placed her hands on her hip, her eyes narrowing. “We all can see how you tend to avoid him. Even before your little action, we could see you glaring at him.” Her face soften a bit. “True, I didn’t expect you to like him right away. But de verdad, did you really have to hit him for acting so happy?”

She glanced at the floor. Silent.

Mamá Imelda sighed, pulling her into a hug. She sunk into her hold, sighing heavily. “I know you don’t like him. I know this is a big adjustment for you. But, it’s also an adjustment him too. Yes, he acts so differently around us. But not because he wants too. It’s because he’s trying to be careful. He doesn’t want to lose his familia, but he’s scared that if he makes one wrong mistake, he’ll lose it all again.” She pulled away, looking her in the eyes. “Ay, he means well niña. He tries to include himself with us, but he is taking light steps to be sure what is safe and what is okay with us. Give him some time. Try to find some common ground with him. Who knows? He’s a man full of surprises, you’ll never know what might happen if you try. Maybe there’s something you both can share and build up together.”

She deeply doubted that, but Mamá Imelda was right. She needed to try.

“Now then, there’s a certain punishment that needs to be filled out, no?”

… drat.

* * *

 

The punishment wasn’t as bad as she thought it would be.

Considering that she was taking over her uncles duties in the shop for a week didn’t seem so bad.

But then he walked in one day.

She heard him coming, humming a new song that seemed to be in progress. She looked up to see him walk in the room, a small book in a hand and a pencil tapping against his chin. No doubt the small book contained new songs. When he caught sight of her, he visibly tensed, his humming ceased and going still.

Right. He hadn’t forgotten that little incident.

His eyes darted left to right before looking back at her. He gave her a nervous smile and waved. “Hola Victoria. Nice, uh, day eh?”

He was practically radiating with fear as he spoke. She could take some satisfactory that he was nervous of her, but it would never do since Mamá Imelda didn’t want such incident to happen again.

_“Try to find some common ground with him. Who knows? He’s a man full of surprises, you’ll never know what might happen if you try.”_

Try. Mamá Imelda wanted her to try. And try she will.

She stood up, making him flinch, and strode over to him in long steps. He looked ready to run when she stopped in front of him. She raised one hand…

And held it out.

His face melted from fear to surprise, looking to her then her hand.

“Hola.” She started hotly. “I am Victoria Rivera. I’m the second born daughter of Mamá Coco and I make shoes for a living.”

He stared at her, eyes wide. From shock that she didn’t strike him or that she was actually talking to him for a change, she didn’t know. But his face turned into a smile, grabbing her hand and shaking it.

“Hola. I’m Héctor. I’m married to Imelda and I like to write songs.”


End file.
